Snook - 3 Terrifying TRUE Scary Stories

Episode Date: February 21, 2026

These were 3 Terrifying TRUE Scary Stories! These were some of the most disturbing stories I have ever read! So I hope you enjoy! Please follow the podcast and rate 5 stars! Thank you so much for listening! Comment down below and let me know if you would like to see more stories like this in the future! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys, and welcome to a different type of video today. Three, terrifying, true, scary stories. Most of the time, I post Reddit story videos, and this will be along the same lines, but just a little bit different. And you guys seem to really want this, and a poll I posted a few weeks ago. And I really am excited to get into this. And like I said, it's a little bit different than regular Reddit story videos. But let me know down in the comments if you'd like to see more of these type of videos, these true scary stories and like, you know, three or four of them or five or six or ten stories. I don't know. Let me know what you're thinking down in the comments. I really appreciate you watching and stop it by. And before we get into it, please like the video

and subscribe to the channel. It's the channel's goal to be at 500,000 subscribers, so please subscribe to the channel. And without further ado, let's get into three terrifying, true, scary stories. If you see someone standing still in the woods, you should probably not approach them. I probably should have left the bar when my friends did. I probably should have never walked home alone. But something in the way that cute little brunette at the end of the bar smiled slyly, and my direction kept me hooked. Something about her bright yellow shirt constantly bought my attention. She could have been looking at the door behind me. She could have been zoning out altogether. She might have never even meant to make eye contact at all. But then again, maybe she did.

I had to stay and find out, so I told my friends good night and promised to catch them the next day, and behind by myself. I told myself I'd buy her drink. I told myself I would at least say hello. I pictured a thousand different scenarios for what might happen next. We could leave together. We could go on a date. We could exchange phone numbers. We could even just have a pleasant enough conversation that ultimately ended in my rejection. But even talking to her would have been a wild achievement for my woefully undeveloped ego in painful shyness. Any of those endings would have been better than another defeated night at home alone. Of course, it didn't matter because I choked. I sat at the bar and

try not to stare. I tried not to look weird. But then I started to think so much about trying not to look weird that it looked weird, you know? I brought a round of six shots for her and her friends. When the bartender asked who they were for, I panicked and said me. So he brought them to me. Six shots. Then he left to help another customer while my social anxiety screams. screamed obnoxiously. One of the friends caught me looking at them and shot a skeptical glance across the bar. She saw all the alcohol sitting in front of me. I saw her whisper to the brunette. I saw them look at me and laugh quietly. I escaped to the bathroom to avoid the embarrassment. By the time I got back, they were gone. But the shots were still there.

Wind and drizzling rain pounded at the door to our shitty dive at the edge of town. I knew I would have to leave my car there. I knew I would have to leave my car there. I knew I I would have to walk home through the woods. It would not be the first time, I guess, in my youth and an experience. I hope the shots would warm me up. The temperature promised to dip below 32 in the early morning hours. And so I shouted, bottoms up drunkenly to the closing time crowd

and sank all six of the sound of disappointed murmurs and half-amused snorts. Of course, that never warmed me at all. It just made me more drunk. I don't remember getting kicked out. I don't remember leaving the place at all. The next place my memory places me is on the path through Bayfield Woods. In the rain, by myself.

Thousands of trees sat between my home and the bar. The roots tied together like the twisted electrical trees in your house. Boy Scouts had removed the undergrowth months before, but nobody could prevent the jagged roots from sticking out and catching careless feet. I stumbled quite a few times. On more than one occasion, I fell on my face. The rain had turned to sleet. At that point, and I tried my best to shield it with the back of my jacket pulled over my head.

The dirt on the clean green path quickly turned to mud as my feet sunk and slurped unhappily. It took me too long to realize that I had lost the path. The landmark suddenly appeared unfamiliar. I stared through the endless array of oak and pines and pittously tried to figure my way back. The weird weather started to fog my glasses, but somewhere in the distance, the color yellow jumped out through the woods. like the sorest of thumbs. I saw the girl from the bar standing about 20 feet away in the rain and wind and whatever else.

She was standing absolutely still. In my inebriated state, I called out to her immediately. I guess I temporarily forgot the collapse in confidence only 20 minutes prior. Hey, what are you doing out here? She started to turn slowly, and so I kept talking. Ma'am, there are bears and wolves in these woods. You should not be out here alone.

Great advice considering the obvious. Can I help you find your way back? She didn't reply. I walked closer towards the yellow jacket in the distance. My glasses blurred so badly I had to take them off. That, combined with the lack of light, this deep in the woods, made it almost impossible for me to see anything. Are we back on the path?

I think I'm a bit lost myself. The girl stared at me oddly. My instinct scratched the itch and groan. I was close enough now to the end. to see the look of utter boredom and amusement in her pale blue eyes. That was a weird thing to see, given the circumstances. She stared quietly for what felt like an eternity of five minutes. I was not sure what to do.

I could walk away. I could keep talking and try to guide her back towards safety. But something in the way this girl looked at me made me feel just uncomfortable. Then she did something even more odd. She lowered herself to her knees and started. to use her hands as legs. I tried to ask what the fuck she was doing. I tried to ask her to stop, but my words turned into slurs, and I backed up from her the same way a dog might analyze and approaching threat. The girl, she said nothing. Instead, she lowered her shoulders and started to

charge. I ran. I ran so fast that the scenery started to blur beside me. Rain whipped my face, Underbrush and branches jumped back wickedly and cut me all over. I thrashed about desperately trying to find my way back. I could hear the girl still following me. I threw stuff to slower down. I tried to change my direction, but nothing seemed to change her mind. I heard a hideous growl escape from her mouth before she leaped at an intersection and pinned me against the cold, hard ground. Please, ma'am, I'm so sorry.

Please, I have a family. I begged my attacker as if she were human, as if she were under, understanding the fucking words coming out of my mouth. But there was no comprehension on her crazed features. At such close range, I could see it all. Blood dripped down from small scrapes in slices against her cheeks. Her teeth looked absurdly yellow, and her breath stank like hot manure. Her nails felt long and jagged against my skin.

I rolled around piteously as the girl growled again. It was a deep, guttural sound, like an animal about to feast. I reached for any sort of weapon I could find and found a heavy rock leaning up against a tree. I wrapped my hands around it and brought it down without hesitation. Her head cracked like a watermelon. There was no reaction at first on her plain features. There were no words from her twisted mouth. She simply paid me one last confused look in the pouring sleigh of the evening.

Then she fell to the side where blood seeped into the leaves. I ran home. I never reported my encounter to the police. I'm not really quite sure what the hell they would say. I never really told anyone about it. Part of me expected to wake up the next morning and hear about a body found in the news. But none of the papers reported any such news.

Nobody talked about a dead girl in town. I checked my clothes for blood. I found nothing. I checked the spot where we fought. At the best of my memory, nobody was there. I started to blame the booze. It had to be the most reasonable. reasonable explanation. As the weeks and months passed, I began to accept it wholeheartedly as fact.

It had to be a crazy, drunk, tripping experience of some sort. I went to the same bar again last night. For the first time, in a long time, my friends stayed with me. Call it a group attempt at conquering my growing, irrational fear of the bar in woods. I stayed late. I ordered rounds of shots with my friends and enjoyed the closing minutes of our favorite football team. The place was packed, people milled in and out to smoke cigarettes and hide outside. Around 10 o'clock, an old familiar flash of yellow entered the door and grabbed a seat by the bar. She smiled slightly. She could have been looking at the door behind me. She could have been zoning out altogether. She might have never even meant to make eye contact at all. But then again,

maybe she did. I hire a sex worker for a few hours a night to hug and hold me, and I give her flashcards which tell her what to say to me. I was married to my wife for 17 years and never once had she turned to me and told me she loved me. For 10 of the 17 years the marriage had always been sexless. This wasn't on the part of my wife. She always had a high libido whereas mine was always been low. I guess we just wanted different things when it came to sex. She wanted wild and dangerous sex. While all I wanted was passionate lovemaking between two people, who loved each other. To be fair, we were two very different people when we met. They say opposite to track, and at the time I felt lucky to have found her. She worked as a psychologist and taught

at a very prestigious university. I owned a small building company, and we met when I was contracted to do work in the building where she taught. The marriage wasn't always bad. At the start, she was amazing and tried hard to make it work, but it didn't take long for the differences between us to become a barrier. The last three years have been the hardest. The constant arguing meant we no longer shared a bed together. Whenever we do manage to be in the room together, the air is thick with a tension that is pressed down on every breath, filling the room with an unspoken weight.

It had reached a point where the love I craved was no longer just a longing, but a gnawing hunger. When I first hired a sex worker, it started as a way to just feel the warmth of a woman. I wanted to feel like I was wanted and loved, even if it was a hollow performance. The first two nights I hired a sex worker, it was just sex. It was nice and passionate at times, but it wasn't the sex I was missing.

When I hired the sex worker the third time, I made it clear I didn't want sex. I just wanted someone to hold and to hold me. It felt great, but it was still missing the emotional aspect, and that's when I came up with the idea for the flashcards. I hired the same sex worker every time. Gemma was considerably younger than me. She was the same age my wife was when we first met. Apart from age, the only other thing that resembled my wife was the color of her eyes.

By our fourth encounter, Gemma knew what I was after, so when I pulled out the flashcards, she was happy to go along with it. You make me feel safe. Hold me tightly and don't let go. Who are the best thing that's ever happened to me? I love you so much. Gemma was perfect. I didn't need to prompt her and she knew exactly when to read the cards back to me.

Her touch was warm and gentle as if she could sense the weight of my loneliness, wrapping me in an embrace that felt both safe and electric. With each encounter, I felt more alive, as if she were breathing color back into my gray existence. My encounters with Gemma went from once a month to a couple nights a week. my need for love and validation became like a drug. I was hooked. The withdrawal was unbearable and left me feeling empty like I had a dark void in my soul. There was a change in me that didn't go unnoticed by my wife. I started dressing differently. There was what you would call a pep in my step, especially around my wife. I won't lie. It started having a strange effect on my relationship with her. She was easier to be around. But I did suspect she knew something.

like it was up. The motel where Gemma and I met was a little more up market than the usual sleaziness in despair of a roadside motel. It wasn't five stars, but it did offer a certain discreetness. When the door opened, I was taken aback. Gemma stood before me, but it felt as if my wife had stepped into the room. She wore the same soft blue dress that my wife loved, its fabric hugging her figure just right, and her hair was styled in the same way, long and cascading with those effortless waves. Even her eyes seemed to shine with that familiar sparkle, making my heart race with a mix of longing and confusion. As she stepped inside, I noticed how she embodied my wife's mannerisms perfectly. The way she tilted her head when listening, the gentle laugh that

dance from her lips in the soft way she held her hands, it felt surreal, a haunting echo of my wife. My heart raced, torn between pleasure and a disquieting sense of unease. Was I still with Gemma? or had I somehow crossed a line into a disturbing fantasy. Gemma's uncanny resemblance to my wife since they chilled down my spine. The same blue dress, the exact haircut, and her mannerisms mirrored my wife so perfectly that it felt like a cruel joke. How did you know how to dress like this? I asked. She smiled, tilting her head just like my wife.

I thought you'd like it. Don't you remember how much she loved this dress? My heart raced as a knot twisted in my stomach. Was this a... coincidence, or had you been watching us? I wasn't sure what to think, and I couldn't, in good faith, continued this charade. I have to go, I said, as I quickly left. That evening, a fragile tension hung in the air as my wife and I sat across from each other at the dining table. She glanced up, her blue eyes searching mine, and for the first time in ages, I felt a flicker of something I thought

I had lost. I've missed you, she said softly. Really? I replied. It was the first time in 10 years I heard even a hint of empathy from her mouth. She nodded at the tension in her shoulders slightly eased before she reached across the table and gently brushed my fingers. As we moved to the bedroom, an unfamiliar warmth washed over us as our barriers slowly crumbled. Let's forget everything for a moment, she said. That night she gave me everything I had longed for in our relationship. For the first time, I felt the affection I craved as we made passionate love. As we lay there in the sweaty aftermath of our lovemaking, I revealed in the closeness. But that was quickly shattered when my wife started echoing the same phrases from the flashcard.

I had Gemma recite. I lay there, stunned, my heart pounding as her words echoed in the darkness. You make me feel safe, she whispered. How could she know those exact words? My mind raced as I pulled away slightly, the intimacy suddenly replaced by a chilling unease. I shrugged off the previous night as a strange coincidence, convincing myself that I was overthinking things. My wife had simply said the right things at the right time, nothing more.

The next evening I decided to sleep in the spare bedroom, seeking solitude. Sometime, during the night, I was jolted from my sleep as I felt a familiar warmth. Opening my eyes I froze. Gemma was lying beside me. Her arms were wrapped around my, within a tight embrace. A chilling feeling of dread crept up my spine as I looked around the room. All the flashcards I had made for our encounters were now nailed to the walls of the room. You make me feel safe, she whispered, repeating each phrase like a ritual, her voice eerily soft.

I couldn't handle it anymore. The flashcards, the strange way my wife had been acting, the eerie resemblance Gemma had started to take on everything felt like it was closing in on me. I needed space. I needed to breathe, so I went to the motel. The same place where I had met Gemma before. Back when things were simpler. Back when I thought I had some control over my life.

I barely settled in when I heard a knocking on my door. My heart stopped. I wasn't expecting anyone. Reluctantly, I opened it. And there she was. Gemma. but something was off. She looked exactly like my wife again.

But this time, there was no warmth. Her eyes were cold, just like the way my wife used to look at me when we argued. You couldn't stay away, could you, she said. Her voice dripping with venom. Gemma, why are you doing this? She stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. Gemma, is that what you call me now? You pathetic little man?

The words hit me like a punch, to the gut. That's exactly how my wife uses talk to me in our worst moments. You think pain for affection makes you a man? You think a few nice words on flashcards are enough to fix your sad, broken life? She said in a cold, unrelenting tone. Stop it, I said, shaking. She ignored me, walking further into the room. You've always been weak. That's why she can't love you. You disgust her. Shut up, I shouted. You're worthless. You were never enough for her. You'll never, be enough for anyone. I snapped, the words, the look in her eyes, the way she embodied everything my wife had said and done to break me over the years, it was too much. I lunged at her, shoving her hard.

I didn't mean to hurt her. I just wanted her to stop, but she stumbled back, tripping over the edge of the coffee table. Her body crashed through the glass as I stood there, frozen in horror, as she lay motionless on the floor, blood pooling around her. What have I done? I thought to myself. I rushed over to her, but she wasn't moving. The blood was. was everywhere, glistening under the motel lights. I didn't know what to do. My mind was spinning out of control in a haze. I dragged her into the bathroom, laying her body in the tub. My hands was shaking as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. For a moment, I thought about walking away and leaving her for the cleaning staff to find. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't focus. I needed help.

So I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. There's been an accident. Someone's hurt. The police arrived quickly, faster than I expected. I led them to the bathroom, trying to calm my racing heart. I was shaking as I opened the door to show them the body, my mind already running through every possible scenario. When I pulled back the shower curtain, there was no body. Instead, lying in the tub was a mannequin line there with its glassy eyes staring up at me. Its limbs twisted and stiff. My stomach dropped, pinned to its chest, and limbs were all the flashcards I had given Gemma. You make me feel safe. I love you.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. The officers stared at me, confused. But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't explain it. The room spun as I sank to the floor gasping for breath. Had I imagined everything? Or had it all been part of some twisted game? As I slumped against the wall, catching my breath,

my vision blurred with panic and exhaustion. I noticed one of the flashcards pinned to the mannequin wasn't like the others. The handwriting was different, sharper and more deliberate. My stomach nodded as I read the words. Smile. I'm watching you. Your loving wife. Ice ran through my veins.

My gaze darted around the room. I hadn't noticed before, but tucked discreetly in the upper corners of the bathroom were tiny blinking red lights. Cameras. I rushed back into the main room, scanning it frantically. Sure enough, there were more. One behind the mirror. Another disguise as part of the smoke alarm.

I felt sick. She had been watching me here. In this very motel room, she had seen everything, every intimate moment, every breakdown, every twisted encounter with Gemma. How long had this been going on? My chest pounded with fury in this belief. I had to confront my wife. This thing that she'd orchestrated wasn't just about our marriage.

It was something far, far darker. I drove to her work, my hands gripping the steering wheel. When I arrived at the university, I stormed into the building where she taught, not caring about the stairs or whispers as I pushed my way towards the lecture hall. My heart pounded with each step. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't focus on anything except getting to her. I flung open the door to her lecture room.

The room was full of students, all women, and there, front and center, sitting with perfect posture, was Gemma. But she wasn't just any student. She was sitting at the front like a prized pupil, fully engrossed in what was happening on the projector screen. It took me a moment to register what I was seeing. On the screen were videos of me, of us. Every humiliating, intimate moment of her marriage playing out on the screen. My heart sank as I saw flashes of our arguments, the loveless years, and then the nights

I'd spent with Gemma. My wife stood at the front of the room dressed impeccably as always, her cold eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She paused the video and turned to face me with a smile that sent chills down. my spine. The entire class turned to stare at me as well. Welcome, darling, she said. I didn't expect you so soon, but it's a perfect time for a demonstration. What is this? I growled. She gestured to the screen casually, like she was explaining a case study. This, my dear, is the culmination of years of work, a deep dive into the male psyche, specifically the fragile male ego and toxic masculinity.

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it, only malice. And you, my love, have been the perfect subject. The room was filled with murmurs of agreement from these students. Some took notes. Gemma's eyes locked onto mine, but they were no longer soft or inviting. They were cold, complicit in this twisted charade. You set this all up? The cameras, the flashcards, Gemma?

My wife tilted her head. her smile widening. Of course, every part of your life, your marriage, your infidelity. I curated it all. I needed to break you down to strip away every false layer of self-worth until only the truth remained. That's what this experiment was about. What better way to understand a man's breaking point than to use his own desires against him? I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat.

This is sick. I cried. I felt like I was going to collapse. Every intimate detail of my life had been exposed, dissected, and turned into a study, every word, every flash card, every moment of my desperation. It had all been for her amusement, for her research. The students were all watching, some amused, some intrigued, and others looking at me like I was nothing more than a pathetic creature beneath their feet.

I couldn't breathe. My world as I knew it had shattered. My wife wasn't my partner. She had been my tormentor, my puppeteer, and I danced right into her hands. Everything I thought I had controlled had been orchestrated by her in the most cruel, calculated way. You're a monster, I whispered, my voice trembling. My wife's smile widened.

Oh no, darling. I'm a scientist. The animals sought refuge in my house during a blizzard. I think they were running for more than just the cold. I barely made it home in time. One minute I was singing along to the radio, and the next I was staring slack-chot at the most menacing storm clouds I'd ever seen. As someone born and raised in Vermont, I was no stranger to snow squalls, but there was

something in foreboding about the dark clouds blowing in from over the mountains. After reaching my house, I opened my car door and stepped out into a cold evening. The wind lashed at my face and made a terrible howling in my ears as I raced up the steps and slipped through the front door to my house. Just in time, Luke said at me an greeting. My husband was standing in front of the living room window, surveying the mountains beyond our city. By the time I walked over to him,

I could barely see two streets down. Seemed like we would be spending the evening inside. Came out of nowhere, I commented. Before I so much as set down my bag, I heard the doggie door open. We didn't own any pets, but we often entertained visits from a neighborhood cat who Luke had named Rigatoni. Sure enough, an old orange cat

soon appeared in our living room, leaving a trail of muddy paw prince as she trotted over to Luke. Ah, the serial couch surfer returns. Too cold out there for you? He asked the cat currently rubbing her head against his shin, who meowed as if an affirmation. Tony wasn't terribly fond of most people, but Luke had away with animals. He reached down to pet her, eliciting a melody of purrs from the contended cat. Come on, he said. Sandin, I'll fix you some dinner. Thank God, I'm starving. I'm wasn't talking to you, Luke said with a warm laugh, walking into the back of the house to fetch some cat food from Tony. Half an hour later, just as Luke and I had finally sat down to eat, we heard the doggie door open once again. I raised a brow out my husband. Tony was our

only regular four-legged visitor, so I wondered who else could have let themselves inside our home. I didn't have to wonder for long. Seconds later, a border collie tore into the dining room, barking and whining with urgency. Luke and I both rose sharp. from our seats at the table, watching the dog as it came to a stop in the corner of the room. I realized as the poor creature lowered its head and tucked its tail between its legs, that I recognized it. Hey, that's a Mr. Johnson's dog, I said, running the table to check if the dog was hurt. Tucker?

Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I see her walking him all the time. I crouched down next to Tucker and slowly reached out my arm. To my surprise, the usually sweet-tempered border collie pulled his lips back in a snarl. lunging forward slightly and snapping his teeth. It was a warning. Not an attempt to actually hurt me, but I backed off all the same. Luke shot me a worried look. He's usually more mild-mannered.

I'll give her a call and let her know he's with us. Luke left the room to grab his phone while I studied Tucker from a safe distance, looking for signs of injury. His frantic barks had been replaced by occasional mournful wines. He was no longer racing around, seemingly content with his place in the corner, but his posture remained fearful and defensive. It was hard to tell with the way he was cowering, but I saw no visible wounds on him.

Do you have signal? Luke shouted from another room. I dug my phone out of my pocket to check, and to my surprise, I didn't. We had generally reliable coverage, and I couldn't remember the last time I lost cell service. I tried to restarting my phone, walking around to different spots in the house,

and turning an airplane mode on and off. Nata. Unfortunately, if it was affecting both of us, it was probably an issue with our service provider, meaning there was little we could do. I was about to ask if he still had Wi-Fi on his phone when a light but urgent tapping sound filled the room. I listened for a moment, trying to place the origin of the sound and soon traced it to the bathroom, or more specifically, the bathroom window. When I got there, I saw a small fuzzy animal standing on the windowsill and scratching fervently out of glass.

What in the world? The little creature didn't seem to notice my presence. I took a few steps further into the bathroom, and I realized as I approached that the animal had torn right through the window screen. No cell service. No Wi-Fi. No nothing. At least the lights are still on.

Luke trailed off as he entered the room, looking over my shoulder at the frantic creature. Is that a weasel? I asked my resident animal lover, who shook his head. Pretty sure it's Martin. Neat. I was about to compliment his identification skills before I looked over and saw the look in his eyes. Don't ask me what I think you're about to ask me. Please, they're endangered, you know.

This isn't Noah's Ark, Luke. We can't shelter every animal in Vermont. I swear the rodent took a break from ripping through my window screen to glare at me. I glared right back. Besides, this little fucker here looks rabid. Luke and I spent a couple minutes arguing. I wasn't keen on taking in any more impromptu guess, but Luke was adamant on saving it from the storm.

There's something off about how desperately it's trying to get in, he said. It might be on the verge of it. freezing into death or something. After a while, he convinced me to take pity on the Martin. I had to admit, the way it was throwing itself against the glass was a little unsettling. Reluctantly, I opened the window and allowed it to squeeze through the hole in the screen. However, I didn't realize that the martin wasn't the only creature waiting to get inside. Before I could shut the window, a flurry of about 20 miles surged into the bathroom from the hole.

They must have been sitting on the sill as well, but I guess I overlooked them, mistaking their fluffy white bodies for snow, I jump backward, swallowing a shriek as one of them landed right on my foot. Eventually I managed to shut the window, without stepping on any mice, but not before a red bird, a cardinal, I think, squeezes its way in as well. Stunned, I hurried after the animals as they made a bee line for the center of the house. When I entered the dining room, I saw not only Tucker in the animals who had just burst in through the bathroom, but also a cat and two dogs that I didn't recognize. cursing, I realized that they must have entered through the doggie door, so I yelled out to Luke to lock it as I tried to make sense of the scene in front of me.

The animals gave each other wide berth. The cat didn't so much as look at the mice, nor did the dog seem at all interested in the cat. All of them are cowering, shivering as they pressed themselves into corners or squeezed into whatever hiding spot they could find. The dogs whined. The mice squeaked. Even the cardinal was making a strange, almost mournful sounding chirping noise.

The only one who was behaving normally was ricketon. who I had to chew away from the thruple of mice hiding under the china cabinet. The hell was going on, Luke asked, and I had no explanation to offer. We'd had nasty storms before, but never had I seen one inspire such desperation in our local wildlife. After another failed attempt at coaxing Tucker out of his corner, I may way away to the living room and stared out the large window. A total wide out stared back in me. I could only see a few feet out in every direction before the world was swallowed up by darkness and snow.

It was eerie, but it was beautiful in a strange way. Hypnotic. It was easy to lose myself and thought as I watched the snow fall. What could have spooked the animals so much? I wondered. Could it really be the cold alone? The weather hadn't seemed all that bad. Sure, it had been cold outside, but not blizzard cold.

When I had opened the bathroom window, I'd been distracted by the mice. When I thought about it, I didn't remember a freezing cold wind sweeping into the house alongside our animal guests. I raised my arm, pressing the back of my hand against the glass, and then stilled. Lou, I quietly called out. He appeared around the corner seconds later. Tony cradled in his arms. Is it just me, or is the glass warm? Luke stepped closer, shifting to hold the cat in one arm and placing his free hand against the pain.

He didn't respond, but the way his mouth set into a thin line told me that he felt the same thing. What does this mean? I don't know. We've all stood in silence for a while. The wind howled outside, but I had the sense that if I opened a window and suck my hand out, it wouldn't feel cold. I didn't want to find out, though. Opening any windows or doors at that point seemed like a bad idea.

In fact, I was about to check that all entry points in our house were secured when Luke pointed at something outside. A large, black mass ambled its way towards us. At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at. Its shape and gates were so strange that I thought I was looking at. looking at a brand new animal. Once it stepped fully into the faint glow emanating from the porch light, I realized that it was a black bear. Its lower jaw and one of its hind legs had been ripped off. From the trail of blood it left in its wake, it was clear that the wounds were fresh. The bear stumbled closer, stopping only inches from the glass, and with every weary step I could make out

another laceration on its body. I watched in horror as the massive creature stared directly at us with a look in its eyes that could only be described as pleading. I held its gaze for a few seconds, and then the creature collapsed onto its side, a puddle of dark red pooled outward from its body, and soon the strained expansions and contractions of its ribcage ceased. Never once did it look away from us as it bled out and died. There was a long silence before Luke and I dared to speak. You think? Luke began.

You think that's what all the animals were afraid of? I hope so, but something in my gut told me that it wasn't. After all, even if that was the creature they'd been running from, the question still remained. What could have inflicted the level of trauma on a black bear of that size? I think we should get away from the windows. As we made our way to the middle of the house, the lights flickered once, twice, and then abruptly went out altogether. We were plunged suddenly into darkness, and it seemed to put the animals even more on edge than before. There squeaks and wines increased in volume as I procured two flashlights from our kitchen cabinet.

I handed one to my husband and then the two of us took to the dining room, sitting on the floor with our backs against one of the walls. Luke was calm on the surface, but I could tell that the strangeness of the situation was causing him distress. At least Tony's presence seemed to bring him some peace of mind. For some reason, she was unaffected by whatever ailed the others. I studied her as she relaxed in Luke's lap. Her eyes closing as he absentmindedly stroked her fur. Why was it that she was unafraid? She had come into her house right before the blizzard settled in, whereas the rest of the animals had likely been outside for longer. Had they seen something out in the storm? If they had, could it have been the same thing that killed the bear? Hey, Luke's shaky voice broke through my thoughts.

Do you hear that? I didn't hear anything. And then I realized they didn't hear anything, no wailing of the wind, no sounds of the animals, nothing. It was like the whole world had suddenly gone quiet. I looked around the room. All of the animals were so still, it was as if they were afraid to move. I clicked my flashlight off, wanting to attract as little attention as possible. And Luke followed suit. For a moment, we just sat there in the dark, listening.

And then I heard a voice. Hello. Clear as day, the voice of a person was calling to us from outside of our house. Hello, anyone in there? It asked. It's toned far too nonchalant for someone weathering the full brunt of a blizzard. I need some help out here. Next to me, Luke shifted as though he were about to stand up.

I reached down, grabbed a hold of his arm, grabbing Tony and pulling Luke back down to the floor. There wasn't a chance in hell I was about to let him investigate the voice. It was so strangely quiet that I could hear the crunching of footsteps in the snow as the person outside moved. Please, the voice said. It had gotten closer, like it was circling the house. Please, I could really need some help. Can I just come in for a minute? It's so cold out here.

My grip tightened on Luke's arm. The complete lack of emotion in the voice's tone, sending any chill up my spine. He reached over, holding his hand in his, as the source of the voice moved to ever closer. Come on now. Don't you have room for one more? It was right outside the dining room window. I closed my eyes like a coward, not wanting to see whatever was about to step into view. Next to me, there was a single, sharp intake of breath.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved. And then there was a light chuckle from just outside the window. There are more footsteps, but this time they're moving away from us. And they seemed to be taking the silence with them. The wind remembered itself, returning with a howling vengeance in the visitor's absence. Luke's hand had gone slack in mine, but I held onto it for a long. long time, sitting there with my eyes shut tight. It must have been an hour before I dared to open my eyes and breathe normally again. Are you okay? I finally asked. No response. I tried asking again,

a little louder, and still my husband didn't respond. Luke? When I clicked on my flashlight, I saw Luke staring at the window, his face twisted an expression of horror I'd never seen before. His skin was pale, and his body was rigid as a corpse. And try as I did. I couldn't get him to respond to me in any way. His look of sheer terror never once changed, even as I carried him to the car and drove us as fast as I could to the hospital. The doctor said it was a stroke. Of course, I was incredulous that such a thing could happen to my fit, non-smoking,

29-year-old husband, but no one could offer me a better explanation. For the next few days, I waited for a recovery that never came. Then the days turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, and the months into years. While Luke regained some very minimal motor control, blinking and twitching his fingers, it was clear that it could never be the same. I became his full-time caretaker, spending my days attending to all of his needs and my nights praying that he would make a miraculous recovery. As of this evening, five years have passed since the storm.

Old Rigatoni is still alive and kicking somehow, and her visits always seem to make Luke perk up just a little bit. She's sleeping on his chest as I write this. taking care of him in their own way. I'm glad to have her around. But even though I try not to be superstitious, her presence always brings me back to the night of the blizzard. I think about Tucker,

who ran away after the storm passed and was never seen again. I think about the Martin, and the mice, and the bear, and the way all of them acted like they were fleeing from something terrible. I think about the look on Luke's face, and I can't help but wonder if they all saw the same thing. Maybe Luke saw something he wasn't meant to, something that his brain had destroyed itself

trying to comprehend. I look at my husband, the love of my life, and can't help but mourn what was taken from me that night. If I had opened my eyes, if I had been brave enough to look, would I have met the same fate? What did you see? I ask him, like I have a thousand times before. I never get an answer. And all right, guys, that wraps up some terrifying, true scary stories.

Well, three terrifying, true scary stories. And let me know down in the comments below. Would you like to see more videos like this for the future? They're very, very, very similar to my Reddit story videos. But you guys love the story videos a lot. So this is kind of an alternative, but still story videos. And just let me down in the comments. If you're still watching, I appreciate you.

It means the world. And please comment down below. What did you like to see in the future? What did you like? What did you not like? What would you like to see change? and like the video and subscribe to the channel. It helps a ton and alright.

Until the next time. See ya.